Bring Me Home for Christmas (Virgin River #16)(8)

“Permanent?” she asked.

“That’s right,” he said, opening the chest of drawers to find his thermal underwear. It was going to be cold, wet and miserable at 4:00 a.m.

“Rich said you were planning to stay here awhile.”

“A long while,” he said. “I like it here.” He shoved the shaving kit, underwear, jeans and sweat shirt into the bag.

“You’re not coming back to San Diego?” she asked.

He gave a shrug. “What for?” he asked.

“Won’t you miss it? The sunshine and beach and wonderful weather?”

The look that came into his eyes was unmistakably sad. “There’s a lot about San Diego I’ll miss, Becca. But not the beach or the weather.” He hefted the bag over one shoulder and grabbed the twelve-gauge shotgun that leaned up against the wall.

“Really, Denny? You’d never come back?”

“What would I go back to San Diego for? We’re meeting at 4:00 a.m. at the bar tomorrow, Becca. Don’t make us wait for you. Dress in camouflage. You brought camouflage, right?”

“Right,” she said.

“See you in the morning,” he said, going out the door.

“Whew,” she said when the door closed. This was a bad idea. He hates me! Her next thought was, If I hadn’t come up here, I’d never have seen him again!

After brushing her teeth, washing her face and putting on some warm pajamas, she crawled into bed. She hadn’t bothered with the clean sheets, but she should have. She caught Denny’s scent on the linens and she remembered it far too distinctly. It was that perfect combination from both of them—her flowery scent combined with his masculine musk. It was so long ago she was astonished she could still summon it in her mind, but it came back to her effortlessly.

A tear escaped. They’re going to come after me with a net, she thought. What if she was still in love with him? And he hated her? How the hell was she going to have a life?

This is going to be torture, she thought. Pure torture.

Denny and Rich were all ready at the bar at 4:00 a.m. when Troy and Dirk arrived. Denny had Jack’s decoys and a duck boat in the back of Big Richie’s truck, a couple of thermoses of coffee and a box of sandwiches Preacher had gotten ready the night before.

“Jack’s from Sacramento and did a lot of hunting around there with his dad. He says you’re going to find it even better up here,” he told Troy and Dirk. “Colder, but better. He and Preacher prefer deer hunting, but they go out for a little fowl sometimes, so he showed me a great blind back in Trinity, not too far from here. You can follow us. We’re going to meet one of the neighbors out there—Muriel St. Claire. She’s a big waterfowl hunter and she’s bringing at least one of her dogs. Where’s Becca?”

“Right here,” she said from behind them.

He turned to look at her and grinned. She had high rubber boots over her army-green jeans, wore a brown turtleneck under a camouflage vest and covered her golden hair with a khaki hat. Hah! This was not a last-minute deal! “Where’s your gun?” he asked.

“I left it in Rich’s truck last night,” she said.

“You’re dressed perfect, Becca,” he pointed out to her.

“Why, thank you, Dennis. I looked up what to wear on Google.”

“Very smart,” he said. He knew his girl. Okay, she hadn’t been his girl in a long time, but she couldn’t have changed that much. She was into clothes in a big way; work or school clothes; going out to dinner clothes; club clothes, beach clothes, biking or hiking or skiing clothes. Very girlie things. Did she really expect him to believe she had rubber boots and a camouflage vest lying around waiting for her first duck-hunting excursion? So…she had an agenda. “Let’s go,” he said. “Becca, stick close to your brother. Ride with us.”

“Sure,” she said, jumping in the back of Rich’s extended cab.

Denny took the wheel on Rich’s truck, since he knew the way, and within thirty minutes they arrived at a marshy lake in a designated hunting area in Trinity County. It was still foggy in the predawn hours; there were probably ducks on the lake. They pulled up right behind a big dually truck. Standing beside it with a couple of Labs, one brown and one yellow, was Muriel. A few other trucks pulled off up ahead indicated other hunters.

Denny made the introductions. When Muriel shook Becca’s hand, she said, “Nice to have another woman along. I’m almost always the only one!”

“Well, I’m a novice,” Becca said. “I’ve never been duck hunting before. How long have you been hunting?”

“Since I was a girl,” Muriel said. “I grew up on a farm around here. My dad taught me to hunt when I was about twelve, but I’d been tagging along for a few years before that. This is Luce,” she said, introducing the chocolate Lab. “She’s an expert. Buff is still iffy—sometimes he retrieves, sometimes he just goes for a swim.” Muriel nodded at the rifle, still in the case. “I take it you shoot.”

“Skeet,” Becca said. “I’m not sure how I’ll do with ducks.”

“Ducks are bigger, but you don’t set them off by yelling ‘pull.’ Just stay quiet, pay attention, try to be invisible. Damn fowl have excellent vision, I swear. Coffee? Danish?”